


Battles Lost

by SilverySparks



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Crying, Hugs, I'm really sorry, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Softness, Spiralling, Suicidal Thoughts, and Shoma being a bloody wonderful person, but there's also, graphic depictions of self-harm, it's not a fun story guys, knife shoes appreciation society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 06:31:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14326632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverySparks/pseuds/SilverySparks
Summary: Yuzuru doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, staring at nothing and waiting numbly for the blood on his arms to dry.The problem with fighting a war against yourself is that you have to lose.





	Battles Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I got stuck on this a couple of days before CiONTU and then Yuzu had to go and give me both the scare of my life and more inspiration than I ever asked for so here we are.
> 
> *PLEASE CHECK TAGS FOR TRIGGERS*

Yuzuru is stretched out on the bed in his hotel room. Shoma, who he’s sharing with for the duration of the show, has gone out to eat, so he’s enjoying a rare moment alone. The TV is playing something in English that Yuzu doesn’t pay enough attention to to understand while he’s scrolling through his social media. He is about to reply to a picture of food Javi sent him when something on the screen catches his eye.

In the movie, a character is running a hand along the edge of his sword to test its sharpness. Yuzuru knows what’s coming; he can’t look away as the blade breaks skin and the obligatory drop of blood rolls down the knight’s finger. Immediately, his thoughts jump to another type of blade slicing through his own skin. He remembers how it feels, the sharp pain, the relief, the burst of elation afterwards. It’s a sensation he loves and hates at the same time, and he needs it, every fibre in his body is craving it. Besides, his mind tells him, it’s been far too long since he last did it anyway; he has to cut himself, he has to, he owes it to everyone he lives for. The truth is, of course, that he doesn’t have any right to live at all; people died, people suffered, so many of them, for so long, and he’s out here doing what he loves most in the world when he deserves it so much less than everyone else. The least he can do is to bleed, suffer as they did, to make his achievements mean something.

Yuzuru jumps up and hurries over to his suitcase, where he digs out a packet of razor blades hidden at the very bottom. He takes one, carefully returns the rest and heads into the bathroom. Close the door, pull up the sleeves, take position at the sink. A determined look into the mirror. His gut is clenched in a mixture of dread and anticipation.

He lines up the blade, mentally steeling himself for what’s to come. No matter how often he does this, there’s always this hesitation, this primal instinct that doesn’t want to get hurt, that likes to pretend he’s a better man than he is. A man that doesn’t deserve to bleed. Yuzuru sets his jaw. Instincts are useless in battle, and a battle it is. He’s caught between the fronts in the war against himself, and somebody has to get hurt.

Press down, pull back. Hands shaking, teeth clenched against the pain. A cold sensation runs up his arm, clear, refreshing. Yuzuru takes a deep breath as some of the pressure leaves his chest.

Press down, pull back. Once, twice, three times. Yuzuru pauses to watch as droplets of blood well up and run down his arms, painting beautiful patterns onto his skin and accumulating in bright red puddles at the bottom of the sink. It’s not enough. He turns his arms, looking for a spot that isn’t already covered by blood, a cut, or a scar.

Press down, pull back. It’s not deep enough.

Press down, pull back. It doesn’t hurt enough.

Press down, pull back. This cut’s not straight, do it again.

And again.

And again.

Gasping, Yuzuru props himself up on the sink. He stares at his arms. So many cuts. Did he do that? He raises his eyes to meet his own gaze in the mirror and recoils. His pupils are wide, his jaw set, brows furrowed. His heart is racing in his chest. This isn’t him. This isn’t normal. This isn’t _human_.

He feels tears well up in his eyes and looks away quickly, taking in the scene. There’s blood everywhere. His arms are a mess, and so is the sink. A few drops of blood have run down the outside of it and fallen to the floor. His arms are still dripping and show no sign of stopping anytime soon.

_What now?_

He dimly remembers this moment from the times before, the horror, the guilt, the overwhelming helplessness. It’s all familiar. Why does he never remember this before he starts? How does he keep ending up in this place?  

Yuzuru can’t keep the tears from falling any longer. He stumbles backward until his back hits the wall and lets himself slide limply to the floor. Blood and tears mingle on the tiles beneath him and leave a watery red mark as he slams his fist into the wall.

Every. Fucking. Time. He ends up like this. You’d think he’d learn, but no. He keeps riding himself into this. That is why he needs to die. But he can’t; he hasn’t paid his due. He still owes everyone so much more. Death would be a relief he hasn’t earned yet. Yuzuru leans back and closes his eyes. Maybe he’ll bleed out. Maybe he won’t. Whatever happens, he’ll deal with it later.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, staring at nothing and waiting numbly for the blood on his arms to dry, when the bathroom door bangs open.

Both Yuzuru and Shoma flinch and stare at each other for a fraction of a second while Shoma takes in the scene. Yuzuru is dimly aware that he should try to explain, but Shoma is by his side before he can do so much as take a breath.

“Are you okay? What on Earth hap- oh.” Yuzuru tenses as Shoma’s eyes wander over his arms, the sink, the razor blade, and widen in understanding. “Oh, _Yuzu_.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuzuru whispers. He’s not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for, but he knows with absolute certainty that all of this is his fault, and now he’s dragged Shoma into it too. But Shoma shakes his head.

“Don’t apologize,” he says quietly. “It’ll be okay. Does anyone know? Should I get somebody? The medical team?” Yuzuru shakes his head, and Shoma hesitates. “Do you- do you want a hug?” Yuzuru looks up at him and nods mutely, grateful for the chance to bury his face in Shoma’s shirt and hide the tears that have started falling again. There’s something about the way Shoma talks to him, something about his calm and non-judgemental gaze, that fills Yuzuru with a mix of emotions he can’t even begin to describe. All he knows is that they’re too much right now. So he leans into Shoma’s shoulder and lets himself cry.

“I can’t do this, Shoma,” he forces out between sobs. “Everything’s so hard. I can’t do it. It’s never gonna be enough.” Shoma mutely wraps his arms even tighter around him.

Eventually, after Yuzu’s tears have run dry and his shoulders have stopped shaking, Shoma carefully disentangles himself. “So what do you want to do about the cuts?” he asks gently.

“There are bandages and disinfectant in my bag,” Yuzuru says tiredly. “If you… could maybe get them for me, I won’t drip on the carpet?”

Shoma helps him clean up. After the cuts are generously covered in disinfectant and bandages are wrapped around a layer of gauze pads, all bloody surfaces are wiped down and their stained clothes are soaked in cold water, Yuzuru finds himself curled up on his bed, shirtless except for the bandages covering his arms. They feel familiar, soft and warm, and their tightness makes him feel like he’s wrapped up in a blanket, safe and comforting. Shoma looks down at him.

“Do you want to be alone?” he asks. “I can go game in the lounge for a while if you like.”

Yuzuru looks up at him. He’s used to hiding, withdrawing, closing himself off from everyone. He knows nobody can ever truly understand him. The best he can hope for is indifference; the worst, prejudice. But then, there’s little point in hiding from Shoma now.

“I’m- I’m scared of my thoughts when I’m alone,” he confesses, voice hoarse from crying. “Please stay.”

Something in Shoma’s eyes goes soft and he comes over to lie down beside Yuzuru, facing him. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. Yuzuru shakes his head. “Okay,” Shoma says simply, and they lie in silence.

It’s… strange, for Yuzu, lying peacefully next to someone who _knows_. Being able to wind down without being yelled at or bombarded with questions. Having someone who stays with him even after he saw just how repulsive Yuzuru is inside. It’s more than Yuzu ever expected to have, and he gives himself time to enjoy it before breaking the silence. “Doesn’t this,” he indicates his arms, “bother you at all?”

Shoma props himself up on his elbows and cocks his head, dark eyes focused attentively on Yuzuru. “Of course it does,” he says quietly. “You’re important to me, Yuzu. I hate seeing you suffer, and I wish more than anything that I could take all that weight from you. But I can’t, and it doesn’t really matter whether I see that in your eyes or on your arms.”

Yuzuru takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being so… kind. Open. Or whatever you’re being right now.”

Shoma smiles at him. “I’m just being me.”

“It suits you, you should do that more often.”

Shoma giggles and gently smacks the side of Yuzu’s head. “Shut up.”

Grinning, Yuzuru rolls onto his belly and folds his arms under his chin to look up at Shoma from beneath his lashes. “I mean it though. You’re a good person. There should be more people like you in the world.” Shoma hides his pink cheeks in Yuzuru’s pillow, obviously embarrassed, but Yuzu wants to say this now. “I’m so glad that you found me and not somebody else, and I’m happy that you’re here with me now.” He pauses, then adds quickly, “You don’t have to actually lie with me though. You can do whatever. Just you being in the room is enough.”

A moment passes before Shoma lifts his face from the pillow. “I don’t want to do anything else,” he says quietly. “I like this.”

A feeling like warm honey drips out of Yuzuru’s heart and spreads through his entire body, painting a warm, genuine smile onto his face. He looks at Shoma for a moment and then closes his eyes, trying to let himself enjoy it. “Hm,” he says, almost in a whisper. “I like this too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember that while Yuzu is feeling better at the end of the fic, he is in no way recovered. Mental illness and self harm are serious problems that cannot be cured solely by the support of a loved one. 
> 
> Dedicated to everyone who had to learn the hard way that reactions like Shoma’s exist only in fanfiction.
> 
> And to Yuzuru Hanyu; I’m so incredibly glad you’re alive today to inspire me in every possible way.


End file.
